


Tensions Rising

by Auriana Valoria (AuriV1)



Series: Herald of Change [11]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Developing Friendships, Gen, Haven (Dragon Age), Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-14
Updated: 2020-08-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:28:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25899688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuriV1/pseuds/Auriana%20Valoria
Summary: Templars, mages, and nobles alike begin to gather for the impending Conclave, and it is taking everything in the soon-to-be Inquisition's power to keep them under control. Tensions are rising to a boiling point... and in the midst of it all, a new source of stress arises for Commander Cullen.One that cannot be resolved with soldiers.
Series: Herald of Change [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1636348
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Tensions Rising

_Haven, Ferelden; Molioris (Bloomingtide), 9:41 Dragon_

Springtime in Ferelden was transitioning quickly towards summer when the first delegates to the Conclave finally arrived. The occasion was as tumultuous as Cullen had expected it to be; with the raging hostilities between the mages and the Templars and the self-same antagonism between both parties and the general populace, it took every single one of the commander’s hastily-trained recruits to maintain order in the simmering kettle that was Haven. Due to necessity, the two sides had been physically separated from each other and were forbidden to interact during their tenure at the settlement. What few loyalist Templars who served Haven’s Chantry kept the rebel mages well-guarded in its depths, while the soldiers under Cullen’s command made sure the rebel Templars remained under watch in a camp outside the town.

The only ones among them who seemed to be enjoying themselves despite all this misery were Josephine and Varric. Just as Leliana had predicted, noble representatives arrived not long before the first of the mages and Templars. Josephine had immediately set about arranging sufficient quarters for them in the village’s hostel, and the ambassador spent most of her time seeing that their endless needs were met. Furthermore, as soon as these fussy nobles caught wind that a world-renowned author was in town, Varric had become their other primary entertainer. If he wasn’t spending his time autographing books, the dwarf was answering the endless barrage of questions from fans of his most popular publication, the _Tale of the Champion_. Like Josephine, the dwarf seemed to thrive in such an environment, possibly even happy for a distraction from his current situation. Elements of hostility between Varric and Cassandra still lingered. The dwarf had not forgotten about his initial treatment at the Seeker’s hands, the wounds from which were still faintly visible on his face. The two mostly kept their distance from each other, and any interaction between them was strictly limited to gathering information on the current situation.

It was a rather fine spring morning when Cullen and Cassandra, who had been heading to the Chantry after supervising a training routine with Knight-Captain Rylen, observed Varric conversing with a very young noble lady near the tavern. They kept their distance as they paused near the gates, and Cullen casually remarked, “He still thinks he’s a prisoner, you know.”

Cassandra let out her breath in an irritated huff, glancing away briefly before slowly lifting her dark brown eyes to meet the commander’s gaze again. “Perhaps he is. I certainly won’t let him leave the town, but it is because I cannot trust him not to run away and never return. And I can’t let him do that when I need him here to talk with the Divine. I want him to tell his story, the story of the Champion of Kirkwall, directly to Justinia while the Conclave is in session. I think he can clear up many misunderstandings.”

The commander crossed his arms. “You honestly think that will make a difference? There are many who believe the _Tale_ is just a work of fiction, and would continue to do so no matter what he says.” He crinkled his nose as he remembered a certain descriptive passage of himself. “And I have to admit, there are parts of it that are more than a little bit off the mark.”

A look of surprise flashed across the Seeker’s face, her brows rising. “You’ve read it?”

“When I needed a good laugh,” Cullen replied flatly. “He gave me a signed copy when it was first published, even when I told him I didn’t want it. I left it in Kirkwall with all the other things I never wanted to see again.”

The Seeker snorted and shook her head. “I understand. My initial research on him was quite the… _experience_.”

“Don’t tell me,” Cullen smirked, “it was-”

“- _Hard in Hightown_.” They both finished simultaneously, after which they chuckled heartily at each other’s responses.

It was one of the few times Cullen had been able to see beyond the veneer of cold detachedness and imperious authority that Cassandra seemed to perpetually wear. Their working together over the previous few months had enabled them to make better acquaintances with each other, and their initial stiff and almost hierarchical relationship gradually gave way to mutual respect and even camaraderie. It was obvious that Cassandra was earnest in her service to the Divine, and that she had dedicated herself to helping Justinia stop this rebellion against the Chantry, not for the Chantry’s sake, but for the sake of the people whose lives were put in jeopardy. He could also tell that she detested Chantry politics by the way she conducted herself amongst the other servants of the Divine, particularly the Grand Chancellor. Thus, in her, he had found a sort of kindred spirit, somewhat to his surprise.

As they resumed their walk to the village Chantry, leaving Varric and his growing audience of admirers behind, the Seeker continued, “I have found a few more recruits for the cause among the mages. There is one Master Taigen and his assistant, Adan. Both are accomplished herbalists who seek asylum from this war to practice their craft in peace. I thought that we might need their skills, so I offered them work.”

Cullen nodded in understanding. “I am certain they will be required sooner or later. There is never a training session without an injury of some sort, and the more mages and Templars arrive, the more dangerous the situation in the area becomes. Not to mention those pilgrims arriving with ailments in need of treatment.”

“Yes,” Cassandra agreed. “Those were my thoughts as well.”

At that moment, they reached the Chantry doors, where Leliana had just emerged. When she saw Cullen, she moved towards him and offered a small smile. “There you are. Commander, if I might have your ear, for a moment?”

Cassandra nodded to her fellow Hand and continued on into the Chantry proper, while Leliana ushered him in and then pulled him to a side alcove to speak with him privately.

“Yes, Sister? What is it?” he asked, rather curious as to what she wished to talk about.

She leaned her shoulder against the wall and crossed her hands in front of her. “With the network of spies I have been building, I’ve been able to gather some information on the visitors traveling to the Conclave. Not all of them are pilgrims or mage and Templar delegates. There are mercenaries coming here, too… some from as far away as Nevarra and the Free Marches. You will no doubt want a company or two more for your own purposes, though it might be wise to use some of them for scouting and message delivery.” She sighed, glancing away before returning her sharp blue gaze to him. “I lost a few of my agents last week in a confrontation with rebel Templars. They were delivering the news of the Conclave.”

“And the rebels objected,” Cullen supplied, lip curling in disgust. Maker, he hated what the Order had become.

Leliana shook her head in similar repugnance. “A reminder that there are just as many who wish to obstruct peace efforts as there are those who wish to see them to fruition. Despite our efforts, this will be an uphill battle for a while yet.”

“There is a successful strategy for almost every scenario,” Cullen tried to reassure her. “It is just a matter of finding it.”

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a flash of gold. Glancing to his right, he noticed Josephine headed towards them, all smiles as she cautiously approached.

“Something you want, Josie?” Leliana asked, her tone suddenly much warmer.

The ambassador inclined her head to Cullen. “Only to extend an invitation to the Commander for our little chat later.”

“Oh, that’s right!” the spymaster turned back towards him. “Josie’s set up a little supper in her office this evening.”

“I worked with Leliana years ago in Orlais,” Josephine elaborated, “but I know you and Lady Pentaghast only by reputation. I would very much like to spend some time getting to know the both of you, if you likewise have any time to spare.”

He rubbed the back of his neck as he thought for a moment. “I… well. I could do that tomorrow morning, I suppose,” he muttered, mostly to himself before answering her directly, “I think I can spare some time. When would you like for us to arrive?”

She grinned widely, and he noticed that her glittering eyes smiled with her mouth. “Perfect! About six of the evening should do. I look forward to your being there, Commander.”

With that, the ambassador bowed and turned to leave, a bit of a bounce in her step as she headed back to her office at the rear of the Chantry.

Leliana chuckled, leaning closer to him and remarking quietly, “I do hope you bring an appetite. The last I heard, she had Flissa preparing a full banquet for us, complete with _hors d’oeuvres_.”

“Maker’s breath…”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

It was close to midnight when he finally made it back to his cabin to sleep. Instead of waiting until the morning to finish the paperwork he had planned on doing before Josephine had come up with her little get-together (as he had initially thought he would do), he had stayed in his office area and finished it after their meeting was adjourned. A good thing, as he was so stuffed from the supper that he doubted it was wise to lie down so soon. Despite the lack of variety in the food currently available at Haven, Josephine and Flissa had somehow pulled together an actual four-course meal for them, just as Leliana had suggested. Moreover, after he had managed to eat everything that had been served him (mostly out of courtesy rather than actual hunger), he had let himself be guilted into taking a second piece of cake...

Maker, how he regretted it.

Josephine’s energy seemed boundless. He deduced very quickly that she genuinely enjoyed learning about other people, and she absorbed all the information she gleaned about himself and Cassandra like a sponge. But despite her curiosity, she did not keep digging for personal details about either one of them, which he greatly appreciated. Very much the tactful diplomat, even in a friendly and familiar environment, Josephine was well-aware of boundaries and was polite enough not to cross them. He had no doubt, however, that she would be going to Varric (if she had not already done so) to get an alternative perspective on the both of them.

It was only when he began unbuckling his cuirass and preparing to go to bed that he realized the talk had almost exhausted him as much as the journey to Haven. He could feel his eyelids getting heavier as he removed his armor piece by piece, piling it rather unceremoniously in a wicker chair in the corner. With the last of it finally off and his boots tossed aside, he fell onto his cot and slowly let his eyes slide closed, hoping for a restful night.

It was not to be.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------

_Fire. Burning fire. Searing his flesh – cooking it in his armor. Sweat pouring down his scalp. Looming walls closing farther and farther in like a cage. Heavy limbs… so heavy… so weak… breath held tight as if underwater. Flashes of violet eyes and ivory fangs…_

_“No…”_

_The smell of blood and sweat and death making his stomach churn. Smoke burning his nostrils and stinging his lungs. And the screams… the constant screams echoing, echoing, echoing…_

_“No… no!”_

_Nails like talons, scraping his jaw, his cheek, his lips… caresses to tease, to taunt, to tempt…_

“NO!”

Cullen’s chest heaved as he sat bolt upright in bed, a cold sweat matting his hair and plastering his clothes to his skin. Cool air from his open window hit damp flesh, causing him to shiver violently, and he hoped none outside had heard him cry out; the last thing he wanted was to have to explain what happened to either Rylen or Cassandra. For a few moments, he merely sat there, inhaling deeply and slowly to calm himself, but not closing his eyes – just in case sleep reclaimed him and plunged him right back into the same abyssal terror. His hands gripped the edges of his cot so tightly that his knuckles were white, and it was a few minutes before he had managed to rein in his trembling enough to let go.

He hadn’t had a nightmare that vivid in years, since right after the incident at Kinloch. Back then, when he had resumed taking regular lyrium after access to supplies was restored, the dreams had been numbed, somewhat, and over time, they became less and less… intense. He’d even managed to go a few nights a week with almost no dreaming at all. Thus, to have such a frightening night terror as he had in the months just following his captivity in Kinloch came as no small shock.

He felt his eyes wandering towards the dresser, where he kept his lyrium kit, and his brow furrowed. Was he really that afraid of quitting? In the past few days, he had been attempting to plan out an appropriate time to abandon the lyrium for good. He had thought about doing it a week or so before the Conclave. It would be a new start for himself as well as for the mages and Templars. It would also give him plenty of time to work up to it and prepare for what would likely be the most intense trial of his life.

His jaw tightened, and he stared into the dark with a burning fire in his eyes as he steeled his mind and heart.

 _I will_ not _be deterred._


End file.
